


Growing Up

by LonelyIntrovert



Category: Call the Midwife, pupcake - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7440169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyIntrovert/pseuds/LonelyIntrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future, from the memories of Trixie's daughter, Marie, as she looks back on her life, growing up with Patsy and Delia.  How she feels about their relationship and becomes best friends with them</p><p>Warning, lots of feels and slightly mature content</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Up

**Author's Note:**

> I know this piece is very odd, but I hope you enjoy it!  
> Please, please, please leave a comment and tell me your thoughts!

Growing up, my mum had several close friends that became important people in my life. Some were in passing, a past patient of hers, but others I knew much more intimately. Several coworkers would come by to visit, making a tight-knit community around the Poplar baby brigade. However, there are a couple who are by far the most influential; and I say ‘couple’, which will make sense in a short while.

Patsy and Delia.

For this to make sense, I should start at the beginning.

My mum got married to my dad shortly after a nun named Sister Monica Joan passed. She had been seeing my father for quite some time, but she couldn’t handle living in the nunnery without the infamous nun. This must’ve been in the late sixties, because a short two years later I was brought into this world by Patsy on a late Friday night when my father was in York.

They like to joke that I couldn’t wait to get out. My mother was in labor for only two hours.

Now we lived on the outer skirts of Poplar, but since my parents’ wedding Patsy and Delia had moved out of Nonnatus House as well and rented a rather swanky flat in the nice part of town because Patsy father had died and left her a large inheritance.

Patsy Mount was a tall, ginger-haired woman who carried a posh accent and smoked like a chimney. Her accent would exceedingly clash with her personality however, because I knew her as one of the most whole-hearted people I would ever come to meet. Her roommate, Delia Busby, was a short, fiery Welsh woman, with brunette hair and very broad shoulders. She was very sensible and kind, and could literally talk about anything.

They apparently babysat me on multiple occasions when I was only a few months old, and I still cringe at the idea of them changing all of my messy diapers. They visited often, and were sure to keep my mother company when she was cooped up in the flat all day with me. As I began to grow out of my infancy and was able to understand conversation, I began to notice several things.

No one ever talked about Patsy and Delia’s living arrangement.

No one even referred to them together. The conversation was either about Patsy or Delia, but never together. Now, this seemed to idly tick off mum, because she would be taking me to the grocer’s and begin talking with a past patient who seemed adamant on only speaking about how lonely Patsy was, but would never even acknowledge the fact that Delia shared a flat with her.

But my mum never said anything. She would just tiredly huff, grasp my hand, and walk over to the fruit for me to pick out an apple.

I got to be a little older, maybe around six or seven when the pair really began to draw my attention.

I began to spend the night there whenever it was my parent’s anniversary or they went on business trips to Spain, (daddy was a salesman for some sort of canning company). Patsy was the withdrawn one; she never talked about her childhood and hardly discussed anything about herself. She seemed content to let Delia do the talking, telling me all about the dogs in her youth, whose names I can’t pronounce, or hardly remember. If it was during school, Delia would be the one to exuberantly assist in my history homework, though it would always be from the Welsh perspective, (“We shall not stop until there is a free Welsh Republic!”), in which Patsy would heavily sigh from where she was making dinner and tell Delia to stop putting ideas into my head.

This would continue for quite some time, until I would just spend the night for the hell of it. They didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; in fact they appeared to be touched that I liked spending time with them. I must’ve been around ten or eleven, and on Thursday mornings I would beg my mum to call them up and ask if I could stay the night on Friday. It wasn’t that I didn’t like being in my own house, it was just that there was something…different about rooming with Patsy and Delia. They were refreshing and the conversation was witty and there were no expectations to fulfill. I was always decent in school, but mum had this idea in her mind that I was going to go on to be lawyer or something, which was not pressure I really wanted. 

It was around this time my mind began to wonder. 

In the past, the two seemed very guarded around me, though I never knew to look for it, let alone recognize it. It wasn’t until I had in fact heard whispers around school about different kinds of relationships did I begin to fill in blanks. I don’t know if they sensed a pensive change in me or just kind of gave up on hiding, but it was around this time that Patsy and Delia seemed to relax around me. Everything I had previously thought to friendly banter became intense flirting, which only seemed to be confirmed when Delia would sneak a peck on Patsy’s cheek after the ginger used her height to get something for her shorter companion. 

Nothing was said to confirm my suspicion, but then again that seemed to be the general rule.

I remember laying on my bed back at home, mulling this over for a good few days. I was probably fourteen, and sex and sexual desire was a door that had just been opened for me. While I knew it was none of my business, I didn’t want them to ‘be together’ in my mind when, God forbid, they were actually just roommates. So I went to my mum to see what she thought.

My mum and I were close, even back then. Being an only child, we often talked about everything. So, me being me, I thought this topic would be no different.

Dear me, how I wrong I was.

My mum was doing laundry in the living room, so I breezily began to aid her while also striking up the conversation. I was very discreet, but to my surprise, my mum was avoiding the question altogether. I prodded her further, a little frustrated that she was not forthcoming and not being as open as she normally was. She quickly snapped.

“It’s no one else’s business other than theirs!” she said shrilly, angrily taking the basket and making for a dramatic exit from the living room. Much to her displeasure, I followed her into the linen closet.

“Aren’t you like their best friend?” I demanded in disbelief, “Are you saying that they never talked to you about this?!”

“NO!” my mum shrieked, scandalized, “That’s…it’s not something people talk about, Marie! Now let it go!”

I nodded that I would, but I never did.

I took a break from seeing Patsy and Delia for a good long while. I didn’t need to be babysat anymore, and I needed time to think about everything that had happened. 

The thing was, the idea of them being a couple didn’t bother me.

After the initial shock they became actually quite, well, cute. All those side-glances I had spotted, those brushing of hands, that mad glint in their eyes finally made sense. They were madly in love, and I was fine with that.

 

My hiatus came to an abrupt end six months later after a terrible row with my mum.

I had just turned fifteen and had come home late, a little drunk, (and maybe a little high), from a party these older students invited me to. She was beside herself, and had started shrieking at me, jumping to conclusions and accusing me of being a terrible daughter, which I knew I wasn’t. Not exactly thinking clearly, I automatically stormed out into the drizzling rain, not knowing where I was going. I vaguely recall getting on a bus and paying for the fare with the rest of the pocket money I had. 

The next thing I knew, I was standing on the street corner that Patsy and Delia’s apartment was on. Feet moving numbly, I found myself on their stoop and rang the doorbell. In the back of my drugged mind I was just beginning to realize what I had done.

Walking alone in the streets of London, not sober, showing up at someone’s door unannounced at whatever time of night it was, and expecting them to answer.

Wow, I was stupid.

I don’t remember how long I stood there, swaying drunkenly from side to side, but after a while I heard the scrape of a lock and I was submerged in bright light as the door was flung open. Blinking blearily, I saw Patsy standing before me, dressed in a long flannel shirt and slacks, a stunned expression on her face. An unlit cigarette hung limply from her lips.

“Marie?!” she gasped, bewildered.

“Hi, can I come in?” I asked, precariously leaning to one side.

Looking around me, she quickly reached and grabbed my arm before tugging me inside. 

“What on earth are you doing, it’s one in the morning!” she said, turning me to face her in the narrow corridor.

I didn’t answer, instead looking away from her, hoping she wouldn’t notice the red tint to my eyes, or the alcohol on my breath.

“You are absolutely drenched! And…are…are you drunk?!” Patsy demanded, lifting my chin up and forcing me to look into her eyes.

“Marie!” Patsy said chastised softly, shock on her face.

“I got in a fight with my mum,” I said, answering her first question.

“I imagine so!” Patsy said with a forlorn sigh and gently steering me further into the house.

She sat me down on a stool at the counter and began to fill a kettle for tea. 

“Where’s Delia?” I slurred, looking around the quiet flat.

“Out on a call,” Patsy said, turning on the stove and retrieving tea things, her back still to me.

“Why were you out?” she asked, reaching for a few cups.

“Why are you still up?” I demanded, my drunken self on its own agenda.

Patsy went silent, turning around to set out the cutlery, her expression strained and drawn.

“I’m waiting for her to get back.”

Had I not been drugged, I would’ve picked up the almost defensive tone in her voice as she set out the milk and sugar.

But I didn’t.

“Why?” I pressed.

“Because,” Patsy said coldly, “Now why are you drunk?”

“I went to a party,” I said, almost nonchalantly, “and don’t you have work tom-this morning? Early?”

Patsy cocked an eyebrow at me as her gaze became intense.

“So?” she inquired.

“Well, shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?”

Patsy shrugged dismissively before turning to pick the kettle up and pour two cups of tea, a third waiting patiently for its owner to arrive. She pushed one at me, but I didn’t reach for it. 

“You love her, don’t you?” I dared ask.

Patsy, who had been spooning sugar into her tea, froze, her body going rigid. She slowly looked up me, her expression unreadable. 

The ginger opened her mouth to say something, but just then the door opened.

“Oh, Pats, why are you-” Delia began, breaking off as she entered the kitchen. Looking both extremely concerned and confused, she flicked her gaze between Patsy’s stunned expression and my expectant stare.

“What?” Patsy whispered hoarsely, seeming oblivious to Delia’s entrance.

“Pats, what on earth…Marie, why are you…” Delia stammered, too stunned to formulate a sentence.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” I continued, not listening to my mind as it screamed at me to shut up, “I mean, I don’t see why it needs to be such a secret…”

Delia, seeming to take in my words and Patsy’s frozen state, appeared to make her own connections. Gently, so as if to not startle her, Delia placed her hand on Patsy’s arm and shook the ginger.

“Patsy, it’s okay,” Delia murmured softly.

“‘Course it is,” I said, troubled by Patsy’s reaction.

After a strained pause, Patsy abruptly shot up and left the room. Delia sighed heavily before taking a sip of Patsy’s abandoned tea and turning to me.

“I’m…Marie, are you drunk?!”

I smiled sheepishly.

*****^*****

I lay on the couch, staring up at the darkened ceiling as I listened to Delia trying to placate my sobbing mother over the phone. The brunette had taken pity on me and had dug out some suitable pajamas for me to change into. Feeling dry and warm, I quietly lay there, plucking at the blanket edges idly. My heart pounded with worry as I regretted everything that happened that night.

I heard Delia hang up and was surprised to see her slink into the living room instead of going to her own room. She plopped down heavily into the seat across from me and for a moment we just stared at each other. In the dimness I saw her worn expression and sorrow panged in my heart. She gazed at me thoughtfully, and I stared right back, too frightened to move.

Delia then broke the unbearable silence.

“Your mother is worried about you,” she said simply.

“I know,” I whimpered softly.

Silence stretched between us. Delia wasn’t much for long, drawn out lectures. 

“I’m sorry I made Patsy mad,” I murmured. Delia didn’t answer for a moment as she winced at this statement.

“She’s not mad, cariad,” Delia said softly back, “She’s scared.”

“Scared?” I echoed, heart sinking even lower. I wasn’t aware I could’ve scared her. 

“She’s afraid of people finding out about us; worried about what they’ll think,” Delia stated.

“Who cares about what other people think?” I demanded rebelliously. Delia spared me wistful smile.

“I’m afraid it could be rather damaging to our jobs if people found out,” Delia responded. After leaving Nonnatus, Delia and Patsy became independent midwives, being no longer employed by the NHS. 

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Delia murmured.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, “I…I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t,” Delia shushed, “Don’t worry about it, Patsy will get over it.”

Once again, silence. The clock chimed two in the morning, but Delia made no move to get up.

“Marie?” she asked tentatively, “Is everything alright?”

At the question, my heart picked up in pace.

Maybe I hadn’t been very truthful to myself; I was trying so hard to forget that I was trying to force feed myself a lie that I was beginning to believe. I could’ve said ‘yes’ like my mind told me to, but I could never lie to Delia. To Patsy, yes, my mum, most definitely.

But never Delia.

So I told the truth.

“I…dunno,” I said hoarsely. The lie was being separated from the truth, and as it came to the forefront of my mind a feeling of dread swept over me.

“What’s wrong?” Delia murmured soothingly, her face kind, sorrowful, sympathetic.

Struggling slightly, I struggled up into a sitting position and hugged myself.

“I’m afraid,” I gasped, my body beginning to shake. If this surprised Delia, she didn’t show it. Instead, she was quick to sit right next to me and wrap me into a hug.

“Why are you afraid?”

Her questions were easy, always asked in a methodical order, to where the answers would just flow from my lips. She wasn’t nosy, she just prodded enough to let my pain out, like it was some sort of infection that needed removed.

“I…at the party,” I stammered, looking down at my hands, “I…something happened…”

Delia waited patiently for me to catch my breath.

Tears began to slide down my cheeks and splatter on my hands.

“I was with my friend,” I managed, “Johnny…I…we got drunk…he…”

Delia watched me warily as more tears cascaded down my face.

“…he asked me…if I had ever…and I said ‘no’ and he started kissing me, but I didn’t want him to…”

The tears were now unrelenting, and I continued to blubber my story as Delia’s jaw gradually began to drop.

“I told him to stop,” I gasped, “but…but he just…laughed…said I was a tease…”

I forced my gaze up at the ceiling, trying to control my shuddering sobs.

“Please help me,” I wheezed in a strangled voice, wanting to continue, to get the truth out but running out of energy.

Delia swiftly tugged me against her sturdy form and I melted into her, sobs raking through my body.

“You are doing so well, cariad,” she choked, rubbing my back, “I’ve got you.”

I don’t know how or when, but Patsy must’ve heard the commotion I was making and had come out to see what the matter was. The ginger obviously heard me, for she stood in the doorway with a stricken look on her face.

“Patsy,” I gasped, guilt filling me, “Patsy, I’m so sorry!”

The ginger walked over to the couch and knelt down before me.

“What happened, Marie?” she asked gently, taking my hands in her own. Delia continued to rub my back soothingly. I opened my mouth but the words refused to come out. So instead, I began to gingerly unbutton my pajama top, the two midwives noticing my wince as I rolled my shoulder to do it. After a moment, Delia reached over to help me and Patsy observed with a pained expression on her face. They then collectively sucked in a breath.

Delia reached over and snapped on the lamp, which made it even worse.

The bruising started at my collarbone and disappeared underneath my tank top. Wordlessly, Patsy tugged the sleeve off of my shoulder and down my arm, showing a palm print that was turning a shade of purplish green from where he had been holding me down.

“Marie,” Delia cried out softly. Patsy gazed up at me, her eyes full of sorrow and pain. 

“I…after…I ran home,” I whispered, “I used a rag…to stop the bleeding…and I changed my clothes so mum wouldn’t see. It hurt so much…I found my dad’s whiskey and drank it…that’s when mum started yelling…I was so scared that I was going to tell her, or that she was going to see…so I got scared and left.”

I broke off, trying to take calming breaths.

“Marie,” Patsy said carefully, “You need to go to hospital.”

I automatically recoiled before dissolving into another fit of tears.

“I can’t,” I wept.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry,” Delia said, tears streaking down her own cheeks, “but you might need stitches.”

“My mum can’t find out,” I gasped feebly, “and what about the police?”

Patsy shared a desperate look with Delia.

“If you don’t want to press charges, the police won’t make you,” Patsy admitted, “And if you really don’t want to tell your mother, then we can take you.”

“…you won’t tell her?” I mumbled in disbelief.

“Not if you don’t want us to,” Delia said in a strained tone, “but I wish you told her.”

“I’m scared,” I whispered hoarsely.

“It’s okay,” Patsy murmured, “We won’t leave you.”

*****^******

And they didn’t. 

Fifteen years to that day, and my mum still doesn’t know about what actually happened that night. It would crush her. I went to hospital and thankfully did not need stitches, but they gave me some good pain meds that I had to go to their apartment to take every morning before school. I didn’t mess around with dating much after that, and instead focused on my studies. Sometimes, I would show up on their stoop at one in the morning, face red and blotchy from crying, and Patsy would open the door, sigh heavily, and then put the kettle on. After a half-an-hour she would have me crying from laughter because ever since I told her I knew, she became very open towards me about their relationship. She would tell me how their first kiss went or the multiple occasions my mum nearly caught them in compromising situations.

They were always there for me; and as I sit at my desk, conducting their legal work as they prepare for their wedding, it is easy to say I have no regrets about befriending Patsy and Delia.


End file.
